


Trial and Error

by Smalls404



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Angst, ED warning, Eating Disorder, Fluff, Like a touch of angst, M/M, chubby martin, mostly fluff I think, mutual idiots, not-canon typical new beholding powers bc why not, they both hate themselves rd 2, tw eating disorder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-28
Updated: 2020-02-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:40:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22931905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Smalls404/pseuds/Smalls404
Summary: It had been a week since Jon and Martin had spent that long evening together, it had been a week since Martin had told Jon that he cared about him. Everytime he remembered this, he felt a smile come to his face. And just as soon as it arrived, he felt a gripping motion in his stomach. It had been a week since Martin and Jon had spoken.Jon and Martin both struggle with the idea that they could ever be happy together, but all it takes is a little communication to see that things work themselves out.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Comments: 28
Kudos: 210





	1. Jon Avoids Martin

**Author's Note:**

> This is a continuation of "Human Enough" but I don't think you need to read it in order to understand what's goin on in this one. Slight warnings for self-loathing, if you happen to fit either of these body types just remember you're beautiful and these characters are just struggling :/

_ “Let me get your coffee for you—”  _

_ “Oh, you definitely don’t have to do that—” _

_ “After everything you’ve done for me? Truly, I insist. It’s the least I can do—” _

_ “You know I’d do it for free, I don’t need a coffee to care about you, yknow—” _

Jon played this conversation in his head over and over again. It had been a week since Jon and Martin had spent that long evening together, it had been a week since Martin had told Jon that he  _ cared  _ about him. Everytime he remembered this, he felt a smile come to his face. And just as soon as it arrived, he felt a gripping motion in his stomach. It had been a week since Martin and Jon had spoken. 

Jon was fully aware of how his radio silence must be coming off to Martin, how it was hardly the best thing for Jon to be doing if he wanted any sort of future with Martin (which he did want, truly, terribly, badly), and yet he couldn’t bring himself to talk to Martin. 

Every time he passed by Martin’s work area, he would do anything he could to cover his face, go a different route, while simultaneously desperately checking to see where he was, what he was doing… 

He definitely had a problem. 

Jon had found Martin annoying, all those years back when he had first met him. (When Jon thinks back to it, he thinks it was most likely because he envied the kindness that came to Martin so easily, his ability to make anyone laugh, or to comfort people without effort. That has never been something that came naturally to Jon). It had been when he first had awoken from his coma that he felt the beginning of a blossom in his chest when he would think about Martin— it was simple, it began mostly as an understandable curiosity ( _ what is he up to? Where is he? Is he alright?) _ and soon after it all of the sudden grew into something more needy— purposefully trying to run into Martin wherever possible, desperately attempting to keep what little conversation they might have on any given day to last as long as possible. If only Jon were a good conversationalist.

Now, however, ever since that night with Martin, where he had held his head in his hands, wiped away his tears, told him  _ I care about you _ … Jon was desperately afraid to either ruin what they had by pursuing it when he shouldn’t, or by not pursuing it at all. He felt trapped. 

He locked up the institute for the night, breathing out a sigh as he looked at his watch.  _ 2 AM _ . Seemed about right. 

“ _ We should do this again sometime, yeah?” _

_ “Absolutely. Absolutely.”  _

Jon wasn’t raised to be kind. His grandmother has always been a curt, stern woman, and unfortunately this nature had rubbed off on Jon. Now that he no longer wanted to be this person he once pretended to be— unafraid, cynical, superior— he felt that his whole world had been turned inside out not just by these new abilities he possessed. 

As Jon began to walk away from the institute, Martin on his mind, he had the strangest tingling in his mind as he felt his Knowing spark, not unusual around the Institute, and yet…

_ 6’ _

_ Blue eyes _

_ Favorite color red _

Jon had a sinking feeling all of the sudden. These attributes, as far as he could place, reminded him specifically of Martin. Either Jon had gained a much farther reach for his abilities, or Martin wasn’t at home. 

_ 1987. _

_ His mother has passed away. _

_ His father— _

Jon slammed a hand over his ears, as though that could possibly help, as he heard the Institute door open.  _ Fuck _ , Jon thought,  _ how did I not notice Martin was still in there?  _

Burning with shame, Jon pressed himself to the side of the building, trying to silence his nervous breathing—  _ now is  _ _ not  _ _ the time for a panic attack, Jon, now is  _ _ not _ _ the time—  _ as he desperately hoped Martin hadn’t seen him leave the building. 

“Fuck,” he heard Martin say. This sent an odd calm through Jon, as he felt his cheeks redden just from hearing Martin talk that way— it was all really embarrassing, how much he adored Martin. 

Jon decided to spare a glance— he couldn’t help it, even before he had become this… non-human thing… he had always been too curious for his own good. He watched as Martin reached into his bag for his keys, grumbling to himself. 

_ Why is he so frustrated?  _ Jon thought to himself. In all his time knowing Martin, he had hardly ever seen him even a little irritated, much less frustrated as he was now. Jon became transfixed, watching Martin as though he was taking a long drink of water— more and more now Jon realized that Martin was an impossible dream, and that sooner or later, Martin would move on with his life, and Jon would be stuck here. 

_ His father— _

Jon slammed a hand over his ear again, before realizing too late he was making too much noise. Martin looked up when he heard the noise, and Jon pressed himself anxiously against the wall as much as he could (not that it was hard, considering how skinny he was lately… he had tried to start eating normally again, but it was hard, especially since it didn’t...  _ feel _ right anymore). When Martin huffed to himself, seemingly dismissing the odd noise, Jon breathed out the smallest sigh of relief.  _ God, I’ve shaken hands with monsters, I’ve met horrific beings, I’ve had a  _ _ rib _ _ taken out by a horrific monster, and yet  _ _ this  _ _ is somehow the most anxious I’ve been in months, _ Jon thought to himself with what little humor he had left in the moment. 

Jon was drawn away from himself as he heard a clicking noise, the snap of a lighter pulling him from his thoughts.  _ Wait a minute, is Martin… smoking? _

Jon watched, transfixed, as Martin brought a cigarette to his mouth, his expression scrunched into an unreadable emotion, holding the smoke in long enough that Jon knew it wasn’t his first cigarette. Martin stared off, flicking it absentmindedly as he stuffed his other hand in his pocket, leaning against his car. 

Jon took this moment, this blessed moment, to appreciate Martin.  _ God _ , Jon could hardly contain his affection. He had always loved the way Martin looked, years before he would be able to admit he liked him. He had always tried to push it from his mind— after all, Jon was still technically Martin’s boss, and had been for a while now. Jon didn’t want to be unprofessional. 

And yet, Martin’s handsome, broad shoulders, his ruffled dirty blonde hair, his multitude of freckles, the softness he possessed— Jon knew Martin hated his body, but he could hardly fathom how he didn’t see him the way Jon saw him, and he desperately wished he could spend the rest of his life showing Martin just how much he loved his body, every inch of it. 

Even thinking about Martin in this way reddened Jon’s cheeks to an embarrassing degree.  _ Pathetic. _ He continued watching after Martin, thinking back to that night they had shared, already a week ago. Jon had more than a sneaking suspicion that he would never have a moment like that with Martin ever again. 

There were a thousand reasons they could never be together, the horrific transformation taking over Jon only one of many. 

_ Another one?  _

Jon shook his head, that strange tingling entering his head. Had that been his thought? It didn’t feel like Knowing… it wasn’t a fact, so how could it be? 

_ No. Better not.  _

Jon felt a lurching feeling, his heart jumping to his throat, as he tried to wrap his mind around— what was this? What was he Knowing? Panic started to overtake him, his breathing quickening. 

_ I don’t know why I thought I’d be able to catch him out here.  _

Jon felt his face pale.  _ No. It couldn’t be _ . 

_ Drive thru tonight? Best not. Best watch my weight for the time being.  _

Jon felt himself backing away from where he could see Martin, hardly able to process the reality of his situation.  _ It couldn’t be. Knowing couldn’t work that way. It couldn’t.  _

Before Jon could catch himself, he heard a deafening noise— the sound of a trash lid hitting the ground. 

_ What the fuck was that?  _

Jon didn’t know what to do. He felt his fight or flight kick in, but instead of choosing either he froze in place, trying to wrap his mind around the horrific discovery he had just made. 

“Jon?” 

Martin sounded incredulous. He did  _ not  _ sound happy. He sounded angry.  _ Very  _ angry. 

Jon tried to respond, but he felt his jaw drop, and he still couldn’t move. 

Martin walked forward, cigarette still in hand. He stared at Jon, his face contorted in a way Jon had only seen a few times in the many years he had known Martin. Jon felt a thousand different forms of grief flood through him— the life he could dream of having, with Martin, as a person, as a human being—

“Why the  _ fuck  _ are you back here?” Martin yelled, clenching his fists in what seemed more a nervous tick than a threat. “Are you—  _ spying  _ on me?” 

Jon still couldn’t speak. He was trying to wrap his mind around what was happening—

_ He can’t bother to talk to me in an entire week, and yet he has time to spy on me?  _

Jon threw his hands to his face, trying desperately not to pry into Martin’s thoughts. How had this happened? How did he  _ deserve  _ this? He scrunched his eyes closed, he plugged his ears as best he could, he tried to back away from Martin—

“Jon, what’s— are— are you okay?” 

Jon felt himself walk into the trash can, losing his balance and falling to the ground before he could catch himself. Martin reached towards him instinctively, and Jon was no longer frozen. 

He scrambled upwards, and he began to run. 

* * *

Martin had had… a very strange night. 

Firstly, he had smoked last night— a dreadful habit he would absolutely not allow back into his life— then he had seen Jon spying on him. Not only was this an incredibly bad sign for Jon’s mental health, considering the way he reacted once he was spotted, but now Jon knew he smoked on the occasional and that… was also embarrassing. 

Martin couldn’t help the smoking, in the same way he couldn’t help his stress eating. He had already been stressed at work, what with the world-ending antics that happen far too often to be comfortable, but now he had confessed his feelings to his years-long crush who was also his boss, and now Jon had been avoiding him for an entire week. 

That is, until last night. On accident.

Martin had spent the better part of an hour trying to track down Jon, but hadn’t been successful. It would help if Martin hadn’t already had a long day at the office… 

_ And if you weren’t so goddamn overweight.  _

Martin tried to repress this thought, as he always did, but this week had made it all the harder for him to do so. Going out for coffee with Jon and having been told by Jon  _ you’re very handsome,  _ and  _ I care for you _ … it made Martin question what had changed his mind. 

Martin tries not to hate himself, he  _ tries _ , but the last time he and Jon had talked, he had been eating a donut and drinking a caramel macchiato… had that been what drove him away? Had he watched him eat and thought to himself,  _ nevermind, I could certainly do better.  _ It's not like Jon had always thought favorably of Martin… maybe he realized that Martin wasn’t worth his time. 

Martin had been beating himself up over the entire thing for the better part of a week, but now that Jon had been spying on him last night… well, that changed things. He had no idea what to think of Jon’s strange behavior. 

Even stranger was the fact that Jon called in sick that morning. With Elias gone, and Peter Lukas an oft absent boss, it was Martin who had picked up the phone when Jon had called in that morning. 

“Magnus Institute, this is Martin, how might I assist you today?” 

There was silence on the other end of the phone for a long time, to the point that Martin was fairly sure it was a telemarketer. 

“Hello?” Martin said half-heartedly, his finger hovering towards the hang-up button. 

“H…” 

“Hello?” 

“Martin,” Jon said quietly. There was something so unsettling about his tone, Martin immediately felt fear grip him. 

“Jon? I’m glad you’re alright—” Martin froze, “unless, of course, you aren’t alright? Is everything okay? Why aren’t you at work?” 

“I’m—” there was another long pause, and Martin imagined a gun being held to Jon’s head (anxiety tended to insert images such as those, but also Jon had had a significant number of concerning run-ins with otherworldly terrors and their over-enthusiastic fanatics), “sick. Today.” 

“Sick!?” Martin didn’t even attempt to hide his dubiousness. In the many years he had worked with Jon, he had  _ never  _ seen him take a sick day, not even on days where he was very clearly sick. 

“Yes,” Jon said, his voice raspy. Martin thought he sounded very much like he’d spent the last few hours yelling, or crying. 

Martin waited for further explanation, but Jon said nothing. 

“O...kay…” Martin said, unable to grasp this reality. Something was very obviously wrong. “I… hope you feel better.” 

“Thank you,” Jon said quietly. Just as Martin was about to hang up, he heard Jon whisper one last thing.

“I’m… so sorry. Martin.” 

Before Martin could ask any questions, he heard the line click. 

Without a second thought, he grabbed his coat, his keys, and ran out the door. 

* * *

Jon didn’t just feel unwell. He felt as though his world was ending. 

He lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, as he had for the past ten hours.  _ I will never have a life with someone. I will never have a life with Martin.  _

Jon had been making a list for the past ten hours (or, that is, expanding on a list that had already existed prior to last night’s discovery). 

Reasons Jon Will Never Be Able to Date Martin

  * Able to read thoughts (eternal invasion of privacy that would ruin _any_ relationship)
  * Needs statements for sustenance (not needing to eat… that puts a damper on any sort of romantic evening, doesn’t it?)
  * Skinny… sickly so. Ribs poking out (what’s left of them, anyway), and even prior to not eating he had been basically skin and bones. 
  * Scars… everywhere. A significant burn scar on one of his hands, a body freckled with holes which had been burrowed into my Jane Prentiss’s… companions. 
  * Compulsion. Another form of privacy invasion… and if Jon couldn’t control himself well enough, he would _never_ be able to ask Martin any sort of question, and Jon so desperately wanted to learn more about Martin without forcing him to tell him. 
  * Jon was… unkind. Even on the best of days, he struggled with empathy, he struggled with romantic gestures, he had _never_ had a successful relationship. 



If Jon kept thinking of things to add to the list, he was actually going to be sick. 

And Martin… if all of Jon’s flaws weren’t enough proof that he could never have a happy relationship with Martin, then all of Martin’s wonderful traits were enough to convince Jon to leave him alone. Martin, kind, handsome,  _ selfless _ Martin needed someone who could take care of him, who could show him the love he deserved. 

Jon heard a knock at the door, and felt more confusion than he did anything else. It had been a long time since anyone had come to Jon’s flat. Who on earth could it possibly be? 

“Jon?” 

Jon froze. That was Martin’s voice. He would know that voice anywhere. Why was Martin here?

“Jon I know this is… unconventional but it turns out I can’t stay at work while you’re sick— ah… call it a motherly instinct or, really, just, a general worry that maybe you’re being holed up by some sort of avatar— I mean, I know you’re— you’re an avatar, so you can handle yourself— but— y’know— I worry.” 

Jon hoped that maybe if he was quiet for long enough, Martin would think he was dead. 

“Okay! I’m coming in,” Martin said with finality. Jon heard the doorknob begin to twist before Jon felt his voice leave his throat. 

“Wait!” Jon said. His voice still sounded raspy. It had been a long night. 

“Ah, there you are!” Martin said. “I’ll leave you alone once I see you’re okay, yeah?” 

Jon wasn’t listening very closely, he was mainly attempting to clean himself up as much as he could. He ruffled his hair into something that looked somewhat managed, he threw on clothing that covered the most skin as possible, he threw a piece of gum into his mouth…

As he headed for the door, he saw his headphones sitting on the coffee table, and he briefly debated whether or not it would be ruder to come to the door wearing headphones, or to pry into someone’s thoughts without permission. 

Jon decided the latter was far worse, and threw his headphones into his ears, plugging it into his phone and switching on the loudest music he could think of.  _ Maybe this will help _ , Jon thought miserably. 

* * *

When Jon opened the door, Martin saw a very disheveled, tired looking Jon, who was obnoxiously blasting what sounded like heavy metal through some standard crappy headphones. Martin had a thousand thoughts at once, such as  _ how does he still look so goddamn handsome despite the fact he looks like he hasn’t slept in a week?  _ And  _ I don’t think I’ve ever seen Jon use headphones, or even listen to music, or even use a mobile phone— _

“Martin,” Jon yelled, clearly not gauging his volume properly.

“Uh- hi- Jon,” Martin said, unsure if he should yell as well. He pointed to his ears, “maybe take those out?” 

“I can’t hear you,” Jon remarked loudly, looking oddly panicked, as though taking out headphones was similar to plucking an eyeball out— well, that wasn’t a very tasteful thought. 

“...Okay…” Martin said slowly. Now that he had shown up at Jon’s flat, of all places, he had  _ less  _ answers than he had before. 

Jon stood inside his kitchen, looking at Martin with an odd tenderness and underlying anxiousness, wringing his hands nervously as he winced at the music in his ears. 

“Jon, why don’t you—

“Would you like some tea?” Jon yelled, and Martin noticeably reacted to the volume. 

“Sure. Yeah. Sure,” Martin said with a dismissive wave of his hand, feeling far too confused to process the situation. He sat down at Jon’s couch, feeling an odd wave of sadness at the emptiness of Jon’s flat. He saw only a few books— no tv, no movies, no trash or personal items lying around. It gave him an unexpected sense of melancholy. 

Jon placed a cup of tea in front of Martin, and Martin didn’t miss the way that his hands shook as he placed the tea down on the table, sitting down next to Martin (with enough distance in between them for two people, Martin thought with a frown). 

“Jon… are you quite alright?” 

Jon’s face contorted in a way Martin didn’t understand. “Yes.” 

“Hmm,” Martin said, “I don’t believe you. Can you  _ please  _ turn that music off… or— or,  _ down  _ at the very least?” Martin asked with frustration. Jon’s face went pale—  _ what an odd response to such a simple request _ , Martin thought to himself. If he knew Jon, he knew he was strange, but not unreasonable. 

“Jon… what’s wrong?” When Jon refused to look Martin in the eyes, music still blaring, Martin knew that he had been right— something was seriously wrong. “You know you can talk to me, right? You know you can’t surprise me anymore.” 

Jon still refused to look at Martin, ringing his hands miserably. Martin decided that no matter what Jon’s radio silence had meant for the past week, Martin knew he needed someone right now. He reached out a hand to touch Jon’s hands, and felt his heart drop when he pulled away. 

_ So it is true _ , Martin thought.  _ He’s done with me.  _

“ _ No.” _

Martin was taken aback, shaking his head with a sort of foggy confusion. He tried to understand what Jon had been responding to.

“No… touching?” Martin asked unsurely, pulling his hand further away from Jon. Suddenly, Jon’s shaky hands reached up to his headphones, tore them out of his ears. He placed his head in his hands, a disturbing silence setting over the flat as Martin tried to comprehend what had just happened. 

_ Oh.  _

_ Oh.  _

Martin felt a pang in his chest so strong he nearly doubled over. 

“Jon… can… can you…” 

_ Can you… hear me? _

Jon didn’t respond, he only quietly began to sob into his hands, his back shaking with the force of it. 

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” 

* * *

  
  


Jon tried to imagine a life where he had never joined the archives, this painful juxtaposition of being able to spend the rest of his life with Martin without ever having worked at the exact place he met Martin. He tried to imagine a time, a place, where he and Martin might be able to coexist, to live a life where Jon might be able to come home and see Martin sitting on the couch, or typing away at his computer—

In these few moments that Jon spent buried in his hands, he felt every last piece of strength within him leave through sobs too powerful to reign in. He felt a life he had always wanted leave him in an instant, he remembered those moments with Martin in the coffee shop as the last truly happy moments he might ever have for the rest of his life. 

“Jon…” Martin said, placing a hand on his back. Jon felt himself jerk away with a force he hadn’t meant to expel.

“No, Martin— no. I don’t— I don’t want you to be lead on. I don’t want you to think— to think we might have any sort of  _ chance _ ,” Jon sobbed out, hardly understandable, Jon was sure. 

“What are you talking about Jon? What has changed?” 

“You  _ know  _ what’s changed,” Jon said miserably, “even before… before…  _ this _ , happened… you deserved better than me. Someone kinder than me— someone… more attractive. Someone with far less baggage.”

“Jon, I don’t  _ mind  _ the ‘baggage’—” Martin said, before Jon curtly cut him off. 

“It’s not about  _ baggage _ anymore, it’s about you having any sort of privacy in your life— how can you ever be happy if you can’t even have your thoughts to yourself? How can you ever feel  _ safe  _ around me if you can never have any sort of privacy— and— and— and I— I’ll  _ never  _ be able to go out on romantic dates with you— not the way you deserve. I won’t be able to give you what you deserve— I—”

Suddenly, Martin was holding his face. Suddenly, they were kissing. 

Jon felt an unspeakable joy explode in his chest, accompanied by an unstoppable fear, 

a fear that this was more of a parting than a hello. 

Martin cupped Jon’s face with his strong, soft hands (how could they be both? He

couldn’t know). Martin traced his jaw, the scars that ran up and down Jon’s cheeks, he placed a hand on the back of Jon’s hair. Jon melted into his touch, it had been so long since he had been kissed, been touched, been  _ wanted.  _

Jon hoped desperately that he was wanted. 

Once Martin pulled away, Jon said nothing for a long time, staring at Martin unabashedly, trying desperately to catalogue everything about this moment, the redness on Martin’s face, the smile that was far too wide, far too happy for Jon to comprehend. It was  _ Jon  _ who was the lucky one here, it was—

“I’m guessing your abilities are somewhat offline?” Martin asked suddenly. Jon blinked after a few seconds, coming back to himself. 

“Wh—,” before he continued, he realized he wasn’t hearing Martin’s thoughts. He felt a huge smile spread across his face. “I— I guess— un-unless you’re not— having any thoughts?” 

“I was thinking  _ the big black bug bit the big black bear and the big black bear bled badly, _ so I’m guessing that this isn’t an every second of the day type of ability.” 

Jon tried not to let his worries get to him, but he knew it couldn’t be that easy. Without his permission, he felt his mind begin to wander towards Martin’s thoughts, and he must have physically grimaced as he felt himself lose control.

“Woah, hey now, what’s wrong?” 

“I— I can’t be that lucky,” Jon grimaced as he physically felt himself hold back from Knowing. It was harder than he had wanted it to be. 

“What if I kissed you again?” Martin asked sweetly. Jon felt his face, his neck, every inch of him redden at the implication, his heart racing— he tried to cover his face somewhat subtly. 

  
“I— I—” he took a deep breath, he was  _ not  _ good at this type of thing, “I wouldn’t— I wouldn’t say no.” 


	2. Acceptance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon and Martin plan and attempt to execute a proper date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! Thank you for all the sweet comments and kudos on the last chapter, I hope you enjoy this one as well!
> 
> Trigger warning for eating disorder! Stay safe :'(

Martin noticed that Jon had been avoiding Martin far, far less since they kissed. If Martin had known that that was all it would take for Jon to realize how serious Martin was about his feelings for him, he might have done it a long time ago. There was something so sweet about this new Jon, how he seemed to know exactly when Martin was going to make a cup of tea (Martin knew that Jon Knew rather than guessed, but that didn’t bother Martin at all), how he seemed to redden with just the slightest touch or compliment from Martin. He felt so pliable, so sweet, that Martin felt suddenly blindsided when Jon asked him back to his flat, for—

“Dinner? Ah— Fettuccine alfredo? I uh— I don’t know how to make much, but… that is one thing I happen to know. Like, a normal kind of know. Not- y’know,  _ know _ , ah— anyway, um, if you’d like to, to come to my flat, sometime this week, any night really, I—” 

“Sure,” Martin said, stiffer than he had meant to. He was smiling, sure, but he was afraid Jon might see the trepidation that rested underneath it. 

“Sure?” Jon asked, carefully. 

“Yeah! Yeah sorry— I—” Martin felt his thoughts drift towards the unfavorable— felt as his self-deprecation began to bubble up inside him, and he knew that he would need to get away quickly, before Jon could hear it. “I have to run— ah, but yes, yes absolutely let’s— let’s plan for—” Martin was saying this as he backed down the hallway, practically turning into a different room as he called out “Thursday? Thursday would be, uh, marvelous.” 

* * *

  
  
  


Jon had been drinking tea alongside Martin as his heart hammered quickly in his chest— he was always at least relieved that he still had one— as he debated endlessly how to phrase it, as he practiced nervously in his head how not to compel as he asked it.  _ Would you like to have dinner? Would you maybe want to come over for dinner? Would you like it if I cooked for you?  _

It comes out as  _ dinner?,  _ but at least there wasn’t any note of compulsion in it. That he can at least be proud of. 

He stammered on for a few minutes before Martin had let out a  _ sure _ , a sure that didn’t sound very sure. Jon wasn’t the best with social cues, but he knew at least this. And then he had left— so urgently, it seemed, and Jon was left to think through every possible thing he might have done wrong. He thought over everything he had said, wondered if maybe Martin hated alfredo, wondered if maybe Martin didn’t even  _ like  _ him anymore—

Jon needed to sit down, or else he’d wear himself out. He settled down for a statement, which he tried to do only once every other day (which was difficult, but manageable). He wished that food had the same effect it once did, missed the feeling of eating food out of necessity rather than out of social politeness. Numbly, Jon wondered if someday he wouldn’t eat any food at all, and the thought made him nervous in a way he couldn’t process. 

Once he was lost in the statement, he could at least feel taken over by someone else’s horrific problems.

* * *

  
  


Martin hadn’t eaten since yesterday. He had a strange mix of pride and shame— see, Martin had dug himself out of this hole before, the hole of an eating disorder, but when it came to that sort of self-harm there was always a horrific sense of pride once you were able to starve yourself to the point of pain— it felt like control, it felt like losing weight, it felt—

Martin stared down at the numbers on the scale. The same. It felt the same. 

Martin had been watching his food obsessively since Jon had invited him over for dinner. It had been three days, and Martin knew that losing weight didn’t happen that fast, and he knew it was unreasonable to think it might, and yet he also couldn’t bear the thought of Jon…  _ looking _ at him, looking at him eat. 

Martin had always been a big guy, he’d always taken up a lot of space not only in height but also in weight. Martin knew that no diet nor eating disorder could change the way he looked, not  _ significantly _ , but it seemed that no matter how much he starved himself he’d still look fat, and if he slipped up even once with food he’d just get even fatter. 

And Jon… it didn’t help that Jon was so slight, so little. Martin felt gigantic when he stood next to him, and imagined with a sort of dull ache that if Jon were to ever  _ touch  _ him, if they got there, if Jon was comfortable with it… he might not like what he feels, or sees. Martin had a lot to him, and at least in his own past experiences, it was often when things turned intimate that partners started making excuses that ended in Martin being single again. 

Martin had been avoiding Jon since the dinner offer was put on the table. Martin could see the irony in doing exactly what Jon had been doing just a week ago, but Martin felt that he might have a better reason. Unfortunately, obsessing over his weight meant he was thinking about it near constantly, which meant if Jon heard anything about it on accident…

Well. Martin didn’t want to be worried over. And worse than that, he had the strangest fear that if someone knew exactly what you thought of yourself, they might agree. 

Martin had almost been successful at avoiding Jon for the past two days, when Jon arrived at the office kitchen unexpectedly. 

“Fuck!” Martin exclaimed when Jon appeared behind him, dropping his mug on the ground in jittery surprise. Not eating always seemed to affect Martin’s hands firstly. 

The mug shattered to the floor and Jon jumped back with surprise, Martin raising a hand to his mouth as he realized what he had done. 

“I’m so—” they both said at the same time before stopping, laughing once they realized what they had done. 

“Jinx,” Jon said awkwardly, as though he wasn’t sure if he was saying the right thing. Martin felt a funny stutter in his chest at the way Jon smiled sheepishly, knowing he was out of his comfort zone. 

“I don’t know why I’m so jumpy,” Martin said, laughing nervously. He tried very hard not to think of why precisely he was so jumpy. 

Jon seemed to be making the same effort, his face scrunched into a face expressing concentrated effort. “Right, we all have those days, don’t we?” Jon said reassuringly. They both went quiet after a few seconds, Martin dropping down to pick up the pieces of the mug. Jon joined him quickly, their hands brushing as they both reached for the same big piece. Martin felt his face redden, and was comforted to see the same reaction on Jon’s face. After another second of silence, Jon spoke up. 

“Y’know, you should really let me pick these pieces up—”

“Nonsense, I’m the one who dropped the mug—”

“Right, but you don’t have my—” he motioned to himself, shyly, “abilities. Even if I do cut myself, it’ll heal fairly quickly.” 

“Even if you do heal, I don’t want you cutting yourself—” 

Right as he spoke the words, Martin drew back his finger quickly as he felt a sharp sting in his finger. He pulled it up quickly, watching as the blood began to pool, and felt an… odd lightheadedness take over him. 

“Martin?” he heard Jon exclaim before he felt his eyes close. 

* * *

  
  


Martin was always surprising Jon. Passing out to the sight of blood was  _ not  _ something Jon expected, especially given the nature of their job as of late. He had been able to catch Martin in time, but now he was somewhat at a loss of what to do. He placed him in a chair, which he immediately began to slump off of, and Jon tried to hold him in place as he called out. 

“Melanie!” Jon yelled, “ **Could you—** fuck,  **would you** ,  **might you** — goddamn it— consider making your way down here if at all possible!” 

Jon heard hurried footsteps as Melanie appeared in the doorway. Melanie looked into the room, looked at the broken mug, looked at Martin slumped over in a chair, and saw Jon panicking as he attempted to hold Martin in place. She thought to herself,  _ Goddamnit, Jon’s lost it again hasn’t he.  _

“I have  _ not, _ ” Jon cried out with exasperation. Melanie’s face crossed with confusion, and then a sudden strong irritation. 

“You’ve got to be fucking  _ kidding  _ me,” she snapped. “That too? Really? Gonna pry into my mind now Archivist?” 

Jon clenched his jaw at the title, tried to keep his anger in check. She was right to be angry, it didn’t matter that Jon didn’t mean to. It didn’t matter that he had no control over these sorts of things— yet, yet, yet, he reminded himself.  _ Yet.  _

“I’m— dammit, I’m sorry, alright? It’s a new development and I am  _ also  _ not a fan,” Jon said, far more biting than he meant to. “ _ Please  _ **help—** help me with Martin, if you could.”

Melanie made a face, but quickly walked over to Martin, assessing the situation. “Okay… what happened?” 

“I don’t know he just— passed out! He cut his finger and he passed out!”

Melanie made a face, thought to herself,  _ amateurs, the lot of ‘em.  _

“Okay, well calm down then. He’ll be back to in a moment, I’m sure. Let’s make sure to keep an eye on him—”

“No more eyes,” Martin mumbled. Jon quickly grabbed a paper towel and wrapped up Martin’s finger, hoping he might not pass out again at the sight. Before Jon could do much else, Melanie had wet a cloth with water and was handing it to Jon. She had to place it in Jon’s hand when he didn’t notice, leaving the room with a look on her face that matched her thought,  _ idiots in love. _

Jon looked at Martin and felt his heart still hammering, knew he wanted to ask if he was alright but didn’t trust himself to not compel, not yet anyway. Martin came to slowly, and Jon felt affection blossom in his chest as he watched Martin slowly come back to, his face pale. Jon immediately went and grabbed a cup of water, bringing it back and placing it in Martin’s hand. 

“Are you… quite alright?” Jon ventured. When Martin didn’t answer right away, he held the cloth to Martin’s forehead, to which Martin hissed quietly. 

“So cold,” he exclaimed quietly, laughing to himself. “Sorry. Yes. I’m fine,” he chewed his lip a little bit, seemingly unaware of himself. “I haven’t passed out like that in a  _ long _ time, so I definitely would have given you warning if I had any idea that was in the cards.” He laughed, but there was something lacking underneath it. Jon felt his face reflect his concern, and he attempted to school it back to something neutral, so as not to make Martin feel uncomfortable. 

“Have you… eaten? Today?” Jon asked. Martin got a funny look on his face, which took a surprising turn towards irritation. 

“Yes. Of course,” he said, for some reason offended that Jon would ask. Jon had to work very hard not to Know why Martin was reacting this way, the effort clear on his face. Martin’s face softened. “Sorry. Sorry. I…” he breathed out a sigh. “I’m. Lying.” He laughed, suddenly. Jon doesn’t understand. 

“Wh… why are you lying?” Jon asked slowly. He felt his face contort further into confusion. Martin messed with the sleeves of his shirt, looking down. His face reddened suddenly, and he looked down quickly. Jon ducked down to meet his eyes, suspecting that they might be wet. They were, unabashedly so. Jon’s heart did cartwheels in his chest, that Martin could be open enough with him that he didn’t feel the need to hide.

“I don’t want you to worry about me,” Martin said, a tear spilling off his cheek. The answer was so honest that Jon had to think over what he’d said, make sure he hadn’t compelled. No, this was just Martin being honest with him. Jon drew a hand over to Martin’s, cautious, yet sure it was the right thing to do. 

“I will  _ always  _ worry about you,” Jon said, squeezing his hand. When Martin’s eyes spilled a few more tears, Jon brought his hand up to his mouth and kissed it slightly. This only made Martin fall apart faster. He fell forward into Jon’s arms, Jon holding him close as he felt Martin cry into his neck. 

_ I’m struggling again _ , he felt the Knowing hit him out of the blue. He pulled Martin away from his neck and looked into his eyes, knowing that Martin had intended for him to hear this. Jon felt a pang in his chest, felt his eyes water. 

“Me too.” He traced a hand on Martin’s jaw. “Let me help you… like you helped me.” 

* * *

  
  


After work, they walked to Jon’s flat together. Sure, they had both driven to work, but it was such a nice day outside that there was no use in wasting it. Jon certainly wouldn’t have agreed to walking if he hadn’t made sure Martin had eaten something prior, and made sure he was feeling better before they did anything remotely active. Jon kept careful watch on Martin’s hands, on his facial color, but took extra care not to worry over him too much. He certainly didn’t want Martin to feel embarrassed, or too fussed over. 

Once they arrived in the front door, they both threw off their coats in silence, Jon hanging his coat up and gently taking Martin’s from him once he had mostly shrugged it off. Martin smiled at him sheepishly, running a hand through his hair as he entered further into the apartment. 

Jon brought them over to the couch, not asking before making some tea. Martin laughed as he heard Jon moving around in the kitchen, getting up after only a few seconds. 

“You don’t do it right, y’know,” he said, laughing as he walked over to the Keurig Jon had turned on and turned it off. He grabbed the kettle which rested on Jon’s stovetop and began filling it with water. Jon felt himself become hyper aware of just how close Martin was to him, could feel his body heat against him, and he felt his senses light up. Martin was much taller than him, and Jon couldn’t help but wonder with a sort of feverish sensation how it might feel to touch and kiss every inch of his body. 

Martin went to reach around Jon for the mugs Jon had already gotten out, then shrunk back suddenly. 

_ I take up too much room _ . 

Jon’s face went slack, a grim reminder that nothing could be so pure and simple for him. Martin saw this expression cross his face and seemed to blush instantly, scratching at the side of his head subconsciously. 

“Sorry… sorry,” Martin said sheepishly, trying to laugh it off but failing miserably. 

“No, I never want you to be sorry. It’s not fair,” Jon said morosely, turning to look at Martin, hoping he might look back. He always does. 

Martin shrugged after a second, allowing his eyes to drop to the floor, his smile falling off as he did so. Jon knew he should be more cautious, knew that it was against his nature to go on any sort of ledge, but he decided to risk it all at least once more. 

He placed a hand— carefully, slowly— on Martin’s side, feeling the warm skin, the

stretch marks that zig-zagged across them. He watched as Martin’s face went a wonderful shade of red, watched as his face lit up with a smile, a smile that quickly disappeared. Jon could feel him pulling away, could feel all the fear Martin had carried inside him for far too long. All at once, thoughts began to flood Jon’s mind. 

_ This won’t last— _

_ He doesn’t want this— _

_ I don’t deserve this— _

_ He’s just being nice— _

Jon felt his heart break as the rush of Knowing filled in every empty crevice in his mind, felt as his eyes began to wet with tears that weren’t for him. He watched as Martin’s face grew concerned, watched as Martin reached out to Jon, pulled him in. Jon felt himself dropping to his knees, Martin following suit. Jon pulled away from Martin’s chest and grabbed Martin’s hand, placing it on his jaw. 

“Do... do you feel these scars, Martin?” he said quietly. Martin’s face twisted into that of confusion. 

“Yes… yes Jon… but—”

“I was so afraid that no one could ever…” he hesitated, a lump forming in his throat, “that no one could  _ ever  _ love me… that— that anyone would take one look at me and be scared away.” 

Martin rushed to comfort him, “Jon, I—” 

“Martin…” Jon said, “so much more has happened since then. I am… I am baffled that I could have ever earned your l—” he stopped himself from saying  _ love _ , “your, your care… even… even before I became a m—” he felt the lump in his throat go bigger. He couldn’t say it. Not again. He closed his eyes, dropping Martin’s hands from his face. Martin immediately placed them there again, tracing a thumb over the scars that littered his jawline, his neck… everywhere. 

“Jon…” Martin took in a sharp breath, eyes watery, “I love you. Abilities and all, scars and all,  _ everything _ . I’ve always cared about you but… these past few years, I have truly  _ loved  _ you.” 

Jon couldn’t stop the tears running down his face. He placed a hand on Martin’s side, put his hand under the shirt. 

“This body… I  _ love _ this body. And I love you. They do not exclude each other, one does 

not break the other. I did not…  _ learn  _ to… to,  _ tolerate _ this body. I have always looked at you and saw a man incredibly out of my league.” 

Martin was crying considerably now. They must have looked like such an odd pair, sitting on the kitchen floor, crying into each other’s arms. Martin pulled Jon into his chest, placing his cheek on the top of Martin’s head. 

_ Maybe we will spend our lives learning to accept each other’s love. Maybe that’s not such a bad way to spend a life.  _

Jon knew it was an intentional thought. Jon looked up at Martin, planted a kiss under his chin. After a second, he smiled, letting out a soft laugh. 

“Let’s be clear here, Martin.  _ I  _ am an all-seeing avatar that can read thoughts and compel people, and you just happen to be a bigger guy. We are  _ not _ the same,” he said, smiling up at Martin. Martin smiled back, a significant sadness underneath. 

“I… I know. I don’t want either of us to hate ourselves…” he paused, “I’m… working on it. And I hope you are too,” he said, encouraging rather than accusatory. Jon buried himself in Martin’s chest, Martin hugging him closer. 

They remained like this for a few moments, moments that Jon tried to memorize, to fill every crack, devoid of love, in his 30-year long life. When they finally parted, they looked at each other once again, both with the smile of someone who had finally found someone who knew how to really, properly love them. 

_ “Uh… should I… start boiling the water?”  _

_ “Nonsense! I’m making the meal.” _

_ “Right…” _

_ “What, you don’t trust me? You don’t trust me to boil water?”  _

_ “Well, you were using a Keurig for tea earlier…”  _

_ “There is nothing wrong with convenience, Martin. I don’t have time—”  _

_ “Excuses, excuses! It’s not like boiling water takes an eternity or anything—” _

_ “It’s always too hot when it comes out of the kettle—” _

_ “That’s the point!” _

  
  



End file.
